Next to it on the bed was a studded cuff bracelet, two choices of choker necklaces, and black sling-back heels.

Fierce. I loved it.

“What are you wearing?” I asked Tori, halting her at the door.

She gave me a wink behind her overgrown blond bangs.

“You’ll see.”

I showered and shaved, slathered on my favorite sweet-smelling body lotion, slid into the dress after deciding on a thong and no bra, thanks to the mesh, and curled and teased my hair, giving it body and height that looked kick-ass paired with my outfit.

I also went to town on my makeup job, keeping everything heavy but the kind of heavy that screamed fierce concertgoer and not back alley hooker.

Dark, smoky eyes, false lashes that flared at the ends, and warm cerise lipstick.

I felt pretty. Really pretty.

The kind of pretty a girl had to commemorate with a selfie, and there was only one person in the entire world I wanted to send that selfie to.

I bit my lip while swiping my phone off the bed and pulling up the camera mode.

I was nervous.

Understandably so. This would be the first time Brian was going to see me.

Like ever.

Heavy stuff right there.

I’d thought about sending him pictures before, but got sidetracked with conversation and his sweet as warmed honey voice I wanted to taste, and all thoughts of pictures would slip my mind. Considering he never asked to see a photo of me didn’t help either.

Since he wasn’t bringing it up, I was hardly thinking about it.

But right now, standing in my bedroom with my makeup done up and my hair looking prettier than it had on prom night, sending Brian a picture of me was suddenly all I could think about.

And before I could think or whisper talk myself out of it, I reversed the camera so I could see myself on the screen, held the device out in front of me and off to the right a bit, pursed my stained lips into a kiss, other hand poised at my chin to blow it, and snapped the picture.

Then I attached it to a text and hit Send.

Feeling WILD.

I wanted to put my phone down. Really I did, especially since I had to snap on my studded cuff bracelet and that required use of both hands, furthermore because Tori had given me a fifteen-minute warning close to fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t let the damn thing go.

I couldn’t stop looking at it either.

My stomach was clenched. I was biting my fist and pacing the length of the bed, head down and eyes anxiously focused.

But when the little bubbles floated in teasing intervals on my screen and I knew Brian had seen my photo, that’s when the real panic set in.

Would he like how I looked? Would it be how he had imagined and confessed to imagining countless times late at night to me, or better, would my photo exceed the limits of his imagination and paint a more pleasing image in his mind?

Or would he hate it and me for sending it to him, shattering his dreamed-up spank-bank material and ruining every orgasm I ever gave him?

Shit.

Shit!

Which was it and why the hell was he taking so long to type? Didn’t he know this was killing me?

“Hurry up!” I whispered against the screen.

It started ringing in response to my plea, startling me and nearly slipping out of my hand.

Oh, God, he was calling.

Brian was calling after looking at my picture.

I was going to have a heart attack and never live to see the Pacific Ocean.

Damn.

I held my breath and hit Answer.

“Hey there, Trouble.” I spoke lightly, forcing a smile I wasn’t sure I was going to keep, depending on which way my photo swayed him.

“You fuckin’ shitting me with this, Wild? What are you thinking right now? Huh?”

He was swaying a hard right into Suck Land, where he hated me, the photo, and was most likely regretting all those orgasms.

I felt sick and gripped my dresser for support.

“Um …” I stammered, swallowing hard. “I was thinking I’d send you a photo, of me, you know, since I hadn’t yet. That’s me in that photo.”

“No shit,” he growled. “What I’m asking right now is, what are you thinking sending it to me?”

“I was thinking I wanted you to see it,” I answered honestly.

He exhaled slowly then spoke, still sounding pissed off but doing it softer.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

My stomach unclenched, only to lurch and twist uncomfortably.

He wasn’t attracted to me.

I closed my eyes and whispered, “I know.”

“You know,” he echoed unconvincingly.

“You don’t like it. You …it’s not what you thought I’d look like and you’re wishing you never would’ve seen it.” I shifted over to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I suddenly felt the farthest from pretty. “That’s why you’re mad.”

“You don’t know,” was all he replied, and he said it firmly. Resolutely.

“What?”

“You. Don’t. Know.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“I’m saying, the reason I’m pissed isn’t because I was sent a photo of a gorgeous girl, my gorgeous girl, and I wasn’t liking what I was looking at. That ain’t it. You’re beautiful, Syd. Knew it before I saw the photo and that opinion damn sure hasn’t changed now that I have seen it. If anything, it’s become more solid.”

My stomach wasn’t lurching and twisting anymore. Those pesky little butterflies were back, enjoying their favorite flip and twist.

My gorgeous girl.

Oh, wow.

Brian totally just called me his girl.

And he thinks I’m gorgeous!

I wet my lips, careful of my color.

“Okay,” I replied gently.

“What I am pissed about is the fact you sent that photo to me.”

I cocked my head in the mirror.

I was officially confused.

He liked the photo, thought I was gorgeous in it, but he was mad I sent it to him?

Why would he be mad? He liked it.

“You lost me there,” I admitted. “Why are you pissed again?”

“You ever meet me, Wild?”

“Um, in person? Or—”

“Yeah, in fucking person, you know, to verify I’m not some psycho looking to find out where you live so I can kidnap you and do all kinds of messed-up shit, ’cause there’s people out there in this world who are like that, babe, and sending your photo to a guy you’ve never physically met is probably the dumbest fucking move ever. You don’t know me.”

Okay, that hurt. I didn’t think it was a dumb move.

And he was wrong.

Next to Tori, Brian had become the most important person in my life. We spoke daily, sometimes multiple times a day, for hours and hours.

I knew him.

“You’re not a psycho, Brian,” I said, stepping back and waiting until I felt cotton comforter against my legs before I sat down on the bed. “And I do know you.”

“No, you don’t,” he argued, his voice rising. “You don’t know me, Syd. You’ll never fucking know me. I’m a voice to you. That’s it. I could be anybody.”

“No you couldn’t!”

My own voice shook now. I could feel the tears threatening, I was so angry and confused.